


Crippling Ourselves with Doubt

by Corycides



Category: Revolution (TV)
Genre: Chair Sex, F/M, Light Bondage, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-02
Updated: 2013-04-02
Packaged: 2017-12-07 07:24:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/745856
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Corycides/pseuds/Corycides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Charlie might hate General Sebastian Monroe, but in an odd sort of way he is the only one who's never lied to her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crippling Ourselves with Doubt

 

There was blood on Charlie's sword and hot, eager murder in her heart. She ran though, over, the carpet of dead militia, feet squishing in bloody mud and flies battering her like hail, chasing the fleeing glimpse of blond across the killing field. The radio on her belt crackled with Miles' voice, calling her back, but it faded in and out as she flirted with the edges of the pendant's field.

Or was it Rachel?

She knew it wasn't Danny. He was dead, so it wasn't Danny's voice.

Besides, _he_ was so close. The radio crackled into silence as Charlie followed him down into the tunnels under Philadelphia. Stale air tasted familiar on her tongue, water soaking into her boots. She followed the splash of his fleeing feet until there was no-where left to run, just a battered old red door.

Something about _that_ wasn't quite right, tweaking anxiety along her nerves, but she didn't care. She shouldered the door open, splinters flying, and he bolted with a curse, dropping his pendant. It smashed under her boots as she leapt after him and grabbed a handful of hair, bloody fingers twisting in pale curls. The satisfaction was like sex, it was better than sex. She wrenched him around to face her and...

It was her, only her face was still soft and her eyebrow unkinked a shrapnel scar. Old Charlie.

'You're a monster!'

 

Charlie woke up with a jolt, breath hot and scratchy in her throat. She lay in the close, dim room, fingers tucked under chin, and listened to other people breath until her pulse settled back to something close to normal. It wasn't a new dream. Sometimes it was different. It would be Maggie or Danny who turned and called her a monster. The only consistency was that it always ended in the tunnels – where she could have chosen to stay with her Dad – and she never caught Monroe.

Except she had. They had. He was upstairs, chained up and ready to die. Somehow she'd thought that would change the dream.

You'd think by now she'd have learned the dangers of optimism. Folding the thin blanket back Charlie scrambled to her feet, grabbing her boots and her jeans, and tip-toed between the sleeping bags and piled blankets to the door. Behind her she heard the floor creak and she glanced round, catching the glint of Jason's eyes in the dark as he watched her.

There was a time she'd have cared.

Now she just opened the door enough to slip out into the hallway. The cold hit her skin, prickling it up into goosebumps, and she shivered as she scrambled into her jeans and stamped her boots on. There was snow on the ground outside, covering the ruins of the town. It had burned down, most of it, sometime between the Blackout and now. The warehouse was one of the few places left standing, and it was half-derelict

Charlie tied her hair up, knotting the matted strands together, as she headed downstairs.

 

'We should kill him,' Charlie said. Her voice cracked with incredulity. 'We have to kill him. That's what it's all been _about_.'

Miles looked away, rubbing his hand roughly over his face. 'Charlie...'

Her hands clenched so tight her short, ragged nails dug raw crescents into her callused palm. He used to say her name like that all the time, like she was some stupid, naïve kid. It wasn't fair. She'd lost more than him, grown up more than him.

'We can't let him go.'

'If we kill him, Charlie,' Rachel said, 'we lose. Baker will kill Nora, he'll set off the nuke.'

Her shoulder shifted and Charlie didn't think about how her hand would be resting on Miles' knee under the table. Like it was some clever secret. She didn't think about that a lot – there wasn't room to be angry about that and hate Monroe.

She slammed her hand on the table, rattling it. 'He's not going to do that. He's not stupid, why kill himself for a dead man?'

'You don't know Jeremy,' Miles said. 'He's always been loyal. We can't take the risk.'

'How can we NOT take the risk?' Charlie objected, glancing around for support. She saw doubt in a few eyes, but no-one was willing to go against Miles. No, against General Matheson, the great bloody hope of the Revolution. She couldn't believe it, had to try and appeal to them even though she knew it would fail. 'We've captured Sebastian Monroe, for god's sake. This is how we win!'

'Enough, Charlie,' Rachel said. Again, talking to her like she was a little kid. She had even less right to do it than Miles did. 'This isn't up for discussion. It isn't up to you.'

Miles, at least, had the grace to sound ashamed. 'We trade him back to Baker tomorrow.'

 

Today now.

Charlie dismissed the guard, claiming to be his relief, and once he was gone let herself in. The bright light inside her blink, wincing as her eyes watered. Someone – probably Rachel, she could be petty – had hung the pendant they'd taken from him on the wall to taunt him.

Under the glare of electric light, General Sebastian Monroe, founder of the Monroe Republic, sprawled out in the heavy metal chair like he was holding court. His long, black-clad legs stretched out in front of him, one knee cocked to the side, and a smirk playing over his mouth. The only thing that detracted from the image was the fact his hands were tied behind him.

'Charlotte,' he said, raising his eyebrow. 'What a delightful surprise. We never did have the time to talk in Philadelphia did we?'

'Shut up,' she said flatly, closing the door behind him.

He slouched down more, hips barely on the seat. The tilt of his head was almost contemptuous. 'Really? You don't want to know about your mother's stay as my guest? About Danny's last days.'

She crossed the room in two long strides and punched him in the face, knocking him back in the chair. His lip split under the impact, his teeth scraping her knuckles.

'Don't talk about my brother,' she said. 'You don't say his name'

Monroe turned his head to the side and spat blood onto the floor, giving her a thoughtful look from under hooded lids as he straightened back up. She waited, eagerness twitching down her arms, for him to say something so she could hit him again.

'Fair enough,' he said instead, tonguing blood off his lip. 'I probably deserved that.'

'You deserve to be dead,' she said.

He didn't smile, but the muscles under his face moved like he might. 'Yeah,' he said. 'I suppose I might. And you don't know even half the things I've done, Charlotte. That we did.'

'Only thing is, Miles says we can't kill you.'

'Sentimental old sod.'

'It's because of Nora, and the nuke,' Charlie said, leaning her hands on the back of the chair. She could smell him. Three days of sweat and blood and man. 'It's not about you. He doesn't care about you.'

His mouth twisted as that little jab slid home. His face was so casually open that Charlie wondered if it was a lie. Not that it mattered. She leant in until her cheek touched his, stubble scraping her skin and her lips against his ear.

'Me, I don't think Baker cares enough about you to go down in flames if you die,' she said. 'I don't think anyone does. When you die, the only person who'll shed a tear is the poor sod who'll have to dig a hole deep enough that you don't stink. No one will shed a tear. Not even Miles.'

She felt the rage hit him, his body going tight with it. Then he relaxed and turned his head so his breath brushed warm and damp against her ear. His voice dropped to a gravel-rough growl, the challenge of it tugging at her chest. 'So what are you going to do about it, princess? Kill me? You don't have it in you.'

Charlie laughed, a rough, humourless sound, and pushed herself upright. She stepped closer, straddling his thigh, and drew the heavy hunting knife from her belt. The hilt was heavy and familiar in her hand, wood shaped to her fingers, and the edge creased Monroe's throat when she pressed it to the soft skin under his jaw. He swallowed and the skin split, a drop of blood welling and running down his throat to soak into his collar.

'I kill you every night,' she said, pushing his chin up. Almost killing him, anyhow. 'It's all I dream about.'

'Do it,' Monroe said. His breath quickened a little, but eyes were steady as he watched her. 'Go on, princess, let's see the Matheson in you.'

She clenched her jaw and bit her cheek, chewing on the soft flesh. It would be easy. She didn't even have to think of him as a person, just pretend he was a deer that needed dressing. Slit his throat, deep enough to let the windpipe drop down into his chest.

It would hot blood on her fingers, not cold, and no deer had eyes that brittle arctic blue.

Her mouth thinned in frustration. He deserved to die, more than anyone she'd ever known. Not just for what he'd done to her, for everyone. Everything. She couldn't do it though. Not like this.

'Maybe if you untie me?' Monroe suggested, mockery sliding through gravel. 'We could have a fair fight.'

Frustrated Charlie snatched the knife away from his throat, wiping the blade in angry, jerky swipes on her sleeve. Tears burned in her eyes at the shame of it. Everything she'd done, every qualm she cut away, and she still couldn't do what needed done.

'It wouldn't have helped,' Monroe said. He sounded sympathetic, almost gentle. 'I beat the shit out of the man that killed my sisters. Didn't help.'

Charlie looked away, swiping her sleeve over her aching eyes as if he'd not see it. She didn't want to feel sympathy for him. He didn't deserve it. Maybe they did.

'In the Blackout?'

'No. Before.'

That surprised her. Somehow Charlie never imagined people being killed before, like everyone had slipped away peacefully in their sleep in well-lit rooms.

'I still hate you,' she said.

He shifted, knee bumping her thigh.'That's the problem isn't it?' he said. 'You hate me, Charlotte, you dream about killing me. Do you every dream about anything else? About the past, the future? About Jason Neville on his knees with his tongue in your cunt?'

She slapped him this time, hard enough that her palm stung and pain stabbed into her jarred wrist.

'You're disgusting,' she said. 'And just because I can't kill you, doesn't mean I can't hurt you. Baker never said he needed you back with both your ears.'

Monroe spat more blood on the floor. 'If you can't kill me, you can't torture me. Trust me, it's harder.'

'Don't make me find out.'

'I'm right though, aren't I?' he said, eyes intent on her. 'The only person you think about fucking is me – just before you slit my throat. You hate me so much, Charlotte, there's no room for anything else. If you kill me, what's going to be left of you?'

Charlie grabbed a handful of his hair, wrenching his head back hard as she could. The hard lines of his throat pressed against his skin and he grunted at the pain.

'You don't know me,' she said. None of them knew her, even Miles who she'd thought... Who should.

Monroe's tongue dabbed his lips, a flicker of wet pink. 'Am I wrong?

Charlie tightened her fingers, watching a grimace skim over Monroe's face, and kissed him. Her mouth slashed over his, scraping his split lip between their teeth. He thought he knew her, but he hadn't expected this. She felt his surprise in the hitch of his breath, the tightness in his jaw. Blood salted the kiss, sharp like metal, and all the anger and frustration and grief twisted together into a brutal, aching need.

It wasn't right, but it was better than hurting.

She bit his lip, hard, and he opened his mouth, his tongue shoving angrily at hers. Charlie shuddered at it in her mouth, half revulsion and half lust. The knife slipped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a clatter, and she knew it was a bad idea, but right now, just for now, she wanted this. Needed this. She couldn't kill him, couldn't torture him, but she'd take this.

Her own little secret fuck, to prove she was just as much of a Matheson as Rachel and Miles.

Charlie reached down and spread her hand over his crotch, feeling the line of his cock pressing against her hand. Not hard, but definitely not indifferent to goings on.

'You like girls then?' she said, breaking the kiss enough to let the words out. 'I always figured you and Miles...'

Monroe was still sprawling, but there was nothing relaxed about it now. She could feel the tension strung wire-tight under his skin as she idly rubbed his cock through his uniform. His eyes were so intent they were like glass. The last time he'd looked at her like that, he'd been waiting to see her brains blown out the back of her head.

'I prefer girls,' he said. 'Doesn't mean I haven't put Miles on his knees a couple of times. Is that what you want to talk about Charlie? Is the thought of Miles sucking my cock what turns you on?'

A little, Charlie realised, stomach twisting uncomfortably. She didn't know why; she didn't want to know why. She shut him up with another kiss, biting his lip until he swore. Then she let go of his hair and stepped back, scrambling out of her boots and pants.

'Shirt too,' Monroe said, ordered, in a throaty, used to getting his own way voice.

'This isn't for you,' Charlie said, unbuttoning his fly and yanking his trousers down to his thighs. She wrapped her fingers around his cock and dragging callused fingers over soft skin. He groaned and shifted, bracing his feet against the ground. Under her fingers his cock hardened and thickened.

He was bigger than she'd thought, Charlie realised, and heat twisted between her legs with purely uncomplicated interest. Charlie shoved it away, burying it under the complicated, twisted feelings that scraped at her insides. She didn't want this to be clean, didn't want it to be about anything but hating him.

Monroe made a rough noise in protest when she let go of him, his shoulders clenching under his shirt as he yanked against the restraints. Charlie shoved him back into the chair and straddled his hips, reaching down to guide him inside her. The stretch of him inside her pulled pleasure tight in her stomach, muscles fluttering in her thighs, and she folded her lip between her teeth.

He rolled his hips up, burying his cock deeper inside her, and she whimpered. She caught the sound behind her teeth before she could repeat it. Her fingers twisted in his collar, the pins digging against her knuckles, as she moved on top of him.

It felt good – it felt _more_ than anything had for months – but it wasn't quite _there_. Heat and hunger puddled and pulled between her hip-bones, but the slow build wasn't enough to put her over the edge.

'Lean forward, princess,' Monroe said, coaxing instead of ordering. She obeyed without thinking, and by the time she remembered he wasn't calling the shots, his mouth closed over her breast. He sucked through the thin fabric of her t-shirt and bra, teeth and tongue worrying sensitive flesh to aching. Charlie gasped and pulled him closer, one hand working its way back to cup the back of his head. 'Uncuff me.'

Charlie snorted. 'You're not that good.'

She let go of his collar and slid her hand down, long fingers pushing through damp curls and slick-wet flesh. She rocked hard against Monroe's hips, matching the suck and flick of his tongue against her nipple. It wasn't meant to be him setting the rules, but she couldn't pull her thoughts together right now. Everything scattered – shattered – with each thrust, leaving just a throbbing tug that pulled everything down to her join of their body.

Monroe bit her, just hard enough to make her jerk in surprise, and stretched up to kiss her throat, teeth scraping over her collarbone and tongue pressing against the pulse under her jaw. She squirmed away, pushing at him in protest, and he growled at her, but there wasn't much he could do. His shoulders strained again and Charlie caught his face, pushing his head back so she could kiss him. The need in him hooked at her and her orgasm hit her in jolting waves, like electricity hitting her nerves.

It left her limp and...still, for the first time since Danny died. She sprawled over Monroe, feeling the thump of his heart through the broad wall of his chest. His lips moved against her throat, wet and coaxing, and he was still hard inside her. The push of his hips made her flinch and gasp pleasure cramping like a bruise through too-tender skin. She squeezed her eyes shut and -

Fuck.

He came inside her, wet and warm and smug.

Fuck.

She pushed at him. 'Get off me.'

Charlie scrambled off him, scrubbing his spit off her neck and trying to ignore the sticky damp on her thighs. She scrambled back into her clothes, hands starting to shake with temper and disgust.

'If you aren't planning on spilling the beans to Miles,' Monroe said. 'You might want to tidy me up.'

Charlie looked around. His legs were sprawled lewdly, his cock dangling wet and limp against black, stained fabric. She clenched her jaw and bent down to grab her knife, catching just a flicker of wariness in his eyes as she straightened up.

'Don't worry,' she said, sheathing the knife. 'I don't need the questions.'

She pushed his cock back into his trousers and buttoned him up. There wasn't much she could do about the stains.

'My sisters were called Scarlet and Lucy,' he said.

Charlie wiped her hands on his legs – well, why not – and glanced at him in confusion. He glanced down at her stomach. 'I'm assuming if it's a boy, you'll want to call it Danny?'

She jerked back, jaw clenching, and then dragged a tight smirk from somewhere.

'Don't worry, Sebastian,' she said, spitting his name out as if they knew each other. 'My step-mother was a doctor, remember? I knew how to make sure I don't make you a daddy.'

He shrugged.

'What else do you have?' he asked. 'Miles? Your mother? You know, for the four years she was my...guest? All she had to do was tell me why the power went out and I would have let her go. I didn't even know about the pendants-' He stopped and frowned at Charlie. 'What?'

She licked her lips, tasting salt and blood. 'Four years?'

'Give or take a month.'

Charlie blinked at him and looked away. She couldn't trust him, but...Monroe was the only who'd not lied to her yet. She _didn't_ trust him, but she didn't trust anyone else either.

'My mother was gone for ten years.'

She took the pendant with her and let herself out, locking him behind her in the dark. He should be used to it, it was where Miles and Rachel wanted to keep them. As she leant back against the door she heard him laugh bitterly.


End file.
